Forgotten
by ImpalaAngel13
Summary: AU, S7. Sam and Dean may be something more than human...Monster!Dean and Monster!Sam later on, rated for future gore and language!
1. Prologue

**Hi. I'm just trying out this thread for kicks and whistles. But, you know, if I don't get enough positive reviews, I may or may not abandon it. This'll be rated M later on for violence and blood and stuff, so I'm just putting it into that category ahead of time. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, any of its plotlines, or its characters. I just borrow.**

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><p>Prologue<p>

There was a time before God. Before Him, before the angels and the archangels, before even the Earth as many knew it, there was a different time. A different Earth. A different story. From this Earth, God parodied his own. He saw what had gone before him and created a new world above the forgotten Paradise. New mountains, rivers, and oceans covered the world that once was, improving upon its predecessor's might.

God modeled his children in the image of Old Earth's inhabitants. The old natives of the forgotten Earth were the angels' namesakes and their features were copied onto those of the Host. They were mighty, at one time nearly ruling all the planets that circled the nearest star, Sol, the sun. The namesakes of the angels were so powerful, they would've been able to single-handedly rival God Himself.

They were dragons.

Not the pathetic excuses for life forms that Eve's creations were. No, these were the _true_ dragons, the majestic beasts that inspired God. The biggest of them were as colossal as mountains, and their true voices could shake the Earth that the dragons stood upon.

There was Gabriel, the dragon with scales that shone with bloody scarlet fire and were so sharp that they could cut nearly anything.

There was Virgil, the creature with shimmering, knifelike scales of steely silver, from which angel blades were carved.

Balthazar was a pale golden brown with barbed, needlelike scales. He'd had an equally prickly personality and suave attitude.

Lucifer once had shimmering bronze scales like the radiant hues of the sun, but after a great and nearly cataclysmic battle, the crescent scales were scorched with inky black. The only gold that had remained in him was in his cunning eyes.

Castiel, the youngest of the dragons, had been a brilliant, silver-flecked sky-blue. He'd had eyes the color of the sky streaked with wispy clouds.

They had been a noble race, full of fire and scales and righteous fury. God had taken the dragons' fire and used it as angel grace.

The dragons are still alive. They are waiting; some of them have been for millennia and still linger on the outskirts of existence even now. God gave the dragons a choice when he took over: be destroyed or become one with his creations. They chose to meld with humans.

Ever wonder why Michael and Lucifer's true vessels were forever destined to be Sam and Dean Winchester?

Ever wonder how Sam could hold Lucifer's essence without decomposing; how he succeeded when Nick failed?

Ever wonder how Dean could watch as pure angelic essence burst from Zachariah's body right into his unprotected eyes?

This is the story of what happened after the death of Bobby Singer.

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><p><strong>Should I continue? Please give me some direction!<strong>


	2. Awakening

**Hi! Thank you for the reviews! I have decided to carry on with this story for now, and I hope that you will like it!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

**A/N: _Italics_ symbolize thoughts or, in some cases, dreams.**

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

Once more, Sam glanced out the window of the police station in the backwoods Kentucky town that they were investigating. There was still no sign of anything or anyone out of the ordinary.

_Then again_, he realized, _if they weren't normal-acting, we would've gotten them by now._

"This is the first murder we've had in a while," the sheriff of the town sighed. "It's a damn shame that Brian Cain had to be the poor sucker who done got killed. He was a good guy. He was the best dentist in town."

"So you say that the victim's skin was completely stripped off, and a few of his choice organs were missing too?" Dean asked stoically from his seat next to Sam, disregarding the sheriff's remembrance of the dead civilian. Sam glanced at his older brother. There were dark circles under his eyes; Dean hadn't been sleeping again. That wasn't a surprise, though. The last time Sam remembered his brother sleeping a full night was before he'd left for Stanford.

"That's right," the sheriff replied with the deep-seated Kentucky twang that the brothers had come to accept all their lives. "It was the most curious thing, that." He leaned forward, bringing his fists down on his desk loudly enough that the brothers' attention snapped back to the sheriff. "The thing is, this wasn't no ordinary killing. When we found that guy…it looked meticulous, like a surgeon had done it. Or a cook perfectly cutting that prize steak."

Dean's pale green eyes narrowed. "You mean like a professional murderer?"

"Someone who knows all about what human anatomy has to offer and knows how to use it to their advantage?" Sam put in.

"Yup," the sheriff replied thoughtfully. "A real pro."

Sam noticed the stiffening and tensing in Dean's shoulders; his jaw was set in rigid profile. Seeing how his older brother was about to go on a hate-driven rampage, Sam cleared his throat loudly. "Well, Sheriff, that'll be all for today. We'd best be going to look at the body of the deceased. Then we're going to go back to where we're staying and compare notes. We'll get back to you as soon as we can."

After scratching his stomach briefly – _So unprofessional_, Sam noted – the sheriff nodded slowly. "Okay then. You have a good day now, Agents."

Sam slid out of his chair with practiced composure, but Dean stood up so quickly and harshly that he jarred the chair to the side and, after a slight lip-curl of contempt in the sheriff's direction that only Sam's practiced eye could catch, forced a professional smile. "I guess we'll be seeing you around. And you have a good day too." With that, the shorter hunter turned on his heel and strode stiffly out of the room.

"Sorry about him. He's just a bit frustrated by this case," Sam hurried to explain. It was pretty much the truth, after all. After a quick parting smile to the sheriff, Sam nearly trotted out of the office to catch up with Dean.

As soon as the two brothers had gotten into their crappy car, courtesy of Frank, Dean exploded. "That sadistic bastard!"

"Dean—"

"Dammit, Sam! Just shut the hell up and listen! Dick Roman is just playing with us! He knows that we know his MO, so he's just leaving that little trail of breadcrumbs. He's _entertained_ by us, Sam! And we're falling for his tricks. This has gone on too damn long. I say we find the bastard and take him down." His chest was heaving as he panted wildly; Sam could see that Dean's adrenaline had spiked from the heated effort of his rant. Seeing that he only had a small window of time in which to make his point known, Sam jumped upon the opportunity.

"Dean," he repeated, tentatively placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. When Dean looked up with undisguised fury glimmering in his jade eyes, Sam continued, using the voice that he usually only used on grief-stricken widows. "I know as much as you do how much you want to avenge Bobby's death. You want to get back at Dick Roman and give him what he has coming to him. I understand that. But you can't just lock and load, drive off, and be all 'Let's go kill the things that can't be killed!' That's just not logical. So I say that we go back to the motel and think this out, okay?"

Furious jade eyes shot up to lock with Sam's, and Sam nearly flinched at the pain that he saw. Dean dropped his gaze down to his hands, reaching out and turning the key in the ignition of the dusty Jeep. "Just leave me the fuck alone," he muttered. "I promise I won't go off on any killing raids anytime soon."

"Define 'soon,' Dean."

Dean shot Sam a look that was half amused, half pissed. "Cute," he spat sarcastically as the car roared to life. He backed out of their parking space and turned onto the main street of the town.

"Anyway," Sam grumbled as he picked at the mysteriously yellow stuffing that spilled out of the passenger seat, "We have Frank on it. It's not like we're totally in the dark here."

The older Winchester's eyebrows shot up increduously. "Yeah," he laughed mockingly and without humor, "Like Frank Deveraux, the paranoid technology wonder, is ever going to figure out a way to track down, capture, fight, and kill the damn Leviathans."

"Funny," Sam commented idly, rubbing the stuffing between his fingers, "I thought that you relied on him for everything. Because, you know, you don't check your phone every five minutes to make sure that you didn't miss a text or call from him. I _certainly_ must be imagining that, right, Dean?"

Dean glared daggers at his brother, who stared right back with that cocky expression that he'd learned from Dean himself. "You're a little bitch, you know that?" he grunted. "Real pain in my ass."

"You're stuck with me," Sam muttered under his breath as they pulled up to the coroner's office. "You might as well deal with it."

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><p>The coroner pulled open the door to the human meat locker and pulled out the tray. On it was something that should not have constituted as a human. Its muscles and blood vessels stood out in stark relief against the white bones that lay beneath. Every single square millimeter of skin seemed to have been expertly cut away. There was a gaping maw of ribs and dried blood where the victim's heart and lungs should've been. It was obvious that other organs were missing too.<p>

"Here we are," the lab coat-clad man announced.

"Ouch," Dean commented.

"Gentlemen, meet Brian Cain." The coroner glanced down at his clipboard and prattled on, "Victim suffered a fatal blow to the back of the neck, seems to have been a quick severing of the spinal cord with a knife or other sharp utensil. All skin has been removed, as well as the hair when the scalp was removed. No evidence as to how the skin was taken so expertly. Heart was detached when the aorta and all other blood vessel connections were sheared. Lungs were removed when the assailant cut the bronchi. Also missing are the pancreas, liver, and small intestine. All missing organs seem to have been cut off with a scalpel." He glanced up from the piece of paper, adjusting his glasses as he took in the expressions of the two men before him. "Are you following?" he asked impatiently.

Dean rolled his eyes furtively, glancing at the coroner with obvious annoyance.

Sam gave a quick thumbs-up after shooting a death glare at Dean. "Yes," he affirmed. "So was there any evidence on the victim that could lead us to the identity of the killer?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." The man's white lab coat flew out behind him as he rushed to a steel filing cabinet and drew out a small plastic bag labeled EVIDENCE. "Here you go," he announced. He handed the bag to Sam, who peered at its contents.

"And this is...?" Dean prompted, getting impatient.

The coroner gave Dean a withering look before returning his gaze to the baggie in Sam's hands. "_This_ is a collection of a dried black substance found between the victim's teeth. It has unknown components, making it a classified and possibly potent substance. It seems as if the victim bit whatever oozed this substance."

Dean rolled his eyes heavenward behind the coroner's back. Sam, ever the practiced one, caught sight of Dean mouthing, _Sweet baby Jesus, why me?_

"Black ooze?" he covered for his older brother. "And you have no idea what it's made of or what it's from?"

"Well, we do know that it's not completely manmade, because there are some organic cells hiding in there among all of that black stuff. So it can't be tar or anything like that." The coroner consulted his clipboard once more, flipping through the pages with a bored expression. "That seems to be it for the autopsy report. We'll contact you if we find anything out."

"Sounds good." Dean quickly flashed a smile and, with one last disgusted glance at the mangled body on the tray, left the room. Sam followed suit after giving the coroner the number for his cell phone under the alias of Agent Nigel Greene.

"Black ooze?" Dean grumbled as they exited the building into the humid summer air. "Sound familiar to anybody here?"

"They're here for sure."

Dean loosened his tie and glanced at his brother. "No shit, Sherlock. But why the sudden appearance of the goop?"

Sam bit his lip thoughtfully. "He fought back and they let him draw some blood, or whatever it is that they bleed. They're getting careless with their killings. The last murder with their name on it was pristinely done, with no trace of them being there except for those teeth marks on that guy's ankle."

"So they're just dropping bodies for the hell of it now? They don't care that they're leaving all kinds of shit laying around on their victims?" Dean shot back disbelievingly.

"Don't think so. I think they're trying to tell us that they're setting down roots in this area. You know, like they're here to stay for a while."

"Even Dick? He's, like, incredibly famous and well-known. Why would the piece of shit sit with his thumb up his ass waiting for us?"

Sam sighed, running a hand through his long brown locks. "All I can tell you is that they're probably close, okay? We'll just have to see what happens."

Dean dug the keys to their old Toyota out of his pocket and fumbled with the button that would automatically unlock the doors. "You know," he growled, "I really hate these electric car doors and shit like this. I miss my baby."

"This car has adjustable seats," Sam offered. "It's good when you want to sleep."

Dean barked out a short laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure that makes the car _so_ much better. What would we do without adjustable seats in our lives?"

"We'd be uncomfortable?"

"The Impala didn't have fancy adjustable chairs in it, and you slept like a fucking baby just fine in it. And the seats were leather! The good black kind, not this pathetic crap!" Dean fumed, punching at the driver's side seat as he hopped into the car. "I just want to go back to the motel and sleep."

"No dinner?" Sam asked in disbelief. Dean had to be going off the deep end if he was refusing food.

Dean frowned and turned the car on. "No dinner."

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><p>Sam crawled into his bed, wincing as a few of the springs in the mattress creaked in protest. It was 2:05 in the morning, as the digital bedside clock proclaimed in dim red lights. Dean had gone to sleep at around 11 after finally eating the cheeseburger that Sam had insisted he eat. He'd proclaimed that consciousness was a thing of the past and had flopped down on his bed with a grunt of satisfaction. Since then, Sam had been surfing the internet for any news on Dick Roman, watching Dean carefully to make sure that his brother was actually getting some sleep.<p>

_Well_, Sam thought as he glanced over in the semidarkness at the large black lump that was his brother, _it's better than nothing._

He reached over and clicked off the lamp that sat on the nightstand, plunging the room into blackness. He withdrew his hand into the comfort of the single sheet he covered himself with, feeling safe and relieved that he and Dean had survived another day. His eyes fluttered closed; exhaustion set in. Sam let the wave of unconsciousness take over.

_He wakes up in the air. The wind rushes past his face and howls past his ears. He is not cold, though. He feels hot instead; burning with the fire of excitement and the flames that seem to bubble inside his stomach. Sam is flying._

_He's flying, but he's not on a plane. _

_Sam is flying, and he's doing it himself._

_He loves it._

_He isn't human anymore. He is new, he is powerful, he is _Sam_, and it feels so damn good to be free for once. He has wings, wings so large that they cast shadows over entire valleys as he soars over them, climbing to impossible heights. He alights on the peak of a mountain. Maybe it is Mount Everest; he doesn't know._

_Sam inspects this new form that is so foreign to him but also feels so familiar, like a part of himself that he'd almost forgotten. He raises a foreleg - he has four legs now? - and admires the shimmering inky black of scales and talons. He has claws that are nearly mirrored, they are so iridescent and such a pure black that shimmers like a film of glass. He snorts in amusement; he has no thumbs. Definitely not human. Far from it._

_Next, he shakes his head, feeling how long and large it is. He peers down his muzzle and notices that he has massive fangs, so long and white and terrifying that he shivers in anticipation. He has to put those to good use soon, has to try out every part of his new body._

_He cranes his long, serpentine neck and looks behind himself. He has the most glorious wings, made of row after row of perfectly formed feathers. Wait-_

_No, these aren't feathers. These are not made of lightweight fibers and hollow bone. These feathers of his are far more glorious than a bird or angel's feather could ever be. These feathers on his wings are pointed blades of black steel, a million knifes that hold him up somehow. He rustles his wings with a thrill of joy are he hears the musical rustle and clink of blade upon blade upon blade. He spreads and folds the wings over and over, reveling in the freedom of having flight at his fingertips._

_He has to use this new body, has to fly!_

_He lashes the tail that he has discovered, and boulders of rock tumble down the mountain as the three spikes on the tip of his newfound appendage dislodge them easily. Sam laughs to himself, and surprises himself when a tongue of pure golden flame bursts from his mouth. He can breathe fire! Sam spreads those glorious wings of his and is about to leap forth, to fly to the nearest lake and see in his reflection what it is that he has become. He leaps-_

Sam woke up with a gasp, sitting upright in an instant. He looked down and saw and felt that he was covered in a cold sheen of sweat.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam looked over to the other bed and saw Dean pulling on a pair of jeans to the tune of some obscure song by Metallica that blasted from the radio that rested on the table in their motel room. "What time is it?" he asked incredulously.

Dean raised a single eyebrow. "It's 7:15. Why?" He acquired a small smirk, the light of mockery dancing in his jade eyes. "Oh," he answered knowingly. "Did I interrupt a _nice_ dream? Because you were making some pretty intense happy noises."

"Shut up," Sam groaned. He dragged himself out of the bed and pushed Dean onto his ass as he passed his older brother. He walked into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind himself. Sam stared intensely at his reflection.

No scales, no wings, no fire.

Just Sam.

Just like always.

And that was the biggest disappointment of all.

He was just Sam.

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><p><strong>What do you think? Please review! The next chapter might be a while, though. I've had this one in the works for ages now; I just never published this story. But PLEASE keep on reviewing! And I'm always open to suggestions for future chapters!<strong>


	3. Discovering

**Hello, guys! Sorry for the late update; writer's block was being that little devil jumping UP and down and UP and down on my brain. But here you go; this'll be a short chapter, since it was all that I could think of. But enjoy regardless!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I wish I did, though.**

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

Dean flipped through the pages of John Winchester's journal, aimlessly looking around at any monster that wasn't a Leviathan. He didn't exactly have the stomach to look at anything on those bastards now, so it was a good thing that his dad's knowledge hadn't extended to the most ancient monsters of Purgatory.

Sam came out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam emerging with him as the big ol' Sasquatch shook the water droplets from his long brown locks. "Hey," he acknowledged Dean as he pulled a pair of dark jeans on over his boxers. "Whatcha looking at?"

"Nothing much. Just remembering the good old days when ghosts were ghosts and the only human-eaters were wendigos and rugarus." Dean glanced up at Sam with a weary grin. "You get over that...happy dream?" he asked, raising his eyebrows knowingly. Of course, he earned himself Bitchface #23.

"I told you, it wasn't _that_ kind of dream!" Sam protested with a scowl, pulling a soft black cotton T-shirt over his head. Dean couldn't help but notice that Sam almost never wore white anymore. "It was a different sort of dream."

Dean snorted, reaching over to pick up his bacon cheeseburger. "Whatever gets your rocks off, princess," he muttered, taking a bite of the greasy piece of heaven.

Sam shook his head in exasperation and pulled on his jacket. "I'm going to go scope out the town; maybe I'll get a sense of where Dick and his friends are hiding out."

"You do that." Dean got up and crossed to the couch, plopping himself down on the soft, faded, flowered upholstery with a grunt. "I'll...I'll man the police scanner, okay?" He flashed his brother a winning smile and held up the silent device. "You never know when it might go off, you know," he informed Sam proudly.

"Sure." Sam grabbed a pistol and shoved it down the back of his jeans, snatched up his phone and room key, and left the room.

As soon as Sam was gone, Dean hopped off the couch and whipped out his phone, once again cursing the touch-screen technology as he fumbled to type in his password of 0666. He scrolled through his extremely short list of contacts and called the second name on the list.

"_I'm not available. Go to hell. Beep."_

"I know you're there, Frank. What do you have for me?"

"_Well, aren't you a genius? I have one thing, and it came from this book so old, it was bound in human skin. I had to wash my hands."_

"Oh, aren't you just a fragile butterfly?" Dean scoffed. "Just tell me- do you have the info on what there is that can kill Leviathans?"

_"Only one thing, and you sure as hell won't find it sitting in your local supermarket."_

Dean sighed. "What?"

_"A dragon."_

"Like, Purgatory dragon?"

_"No, I mean older-than-dirt dragons. Older than God, even."_

"Dude, do those even exist?"

_"As far as I know, they did. They say that these things are parts of certain humans, that they live in them, just dormant and waiting for the right moment to come out." _Frank's crackly voice was skeptical.

"Frank, is there any known dragon dude around here? Because that's what we kinda need right now." Dean anxiously ran his fingers through his spiky hair.

_"Two have been prophecised in the book: a guy called the Holder of the Eldest, and this other one simply referred to as the Blackened One."_

"No other info?"

_"Nope."_

"Fucking peachy."

_"Well, sweet cheeks, I'd love to stay and chat, but I have some badass immortals to hunt. See you later, Dean-o." _The line went dead.

Dean tossed the phone to the couch and paced around the crappy room. "Shit, shit, shit." He put his head in his hands and muttered, "Well, all we need to do now is just find a person with a fucking _dragon_ piggybacking in their skin. And won't that be an adventure?"

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><p>Sam came back later that night with a bagful of diner food and bad news. "Nothing at first, but then I saw this one old hotel on the outskirts of town that had a bunch of the suited monkeys manning the front doors. They're there and they're waiting for us. All we have to do is go."<p>

Dean just grunted and buried his teeth in his burger, chewing in stony silence. He didn't know whether or not to tell Sam about Frank's findings. Admittedly, the idea of dragons was a bit far-fetched, but it was no different than the concept of a succubus or a demon or a damn Leviathan.

So what was he waiting for?

"Any news from Frank?" Sam broke into Dean's thoughts. Dean looked up in panic, shocked out of his reverie. Sam was looking at him expectantly, his wide hazel eyes questioning.

"No," Dean answered shortly, reaching to take a swig of beer. "None at all."

His brother nodded and went back to his salad.

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><p>Sam had a nightmare that night.<p>

It woke Dean up, at first prompting him to whip out Ruby's knife from under his pillow. But then he looked over at the next bed and saw Sam writhing and muttering in his sleep. "Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, swinging his legs out from under the covers, clicking on the light at the bedside and walking over to Sam's bed, wincing when nearly every muscle in his body screamed in protest. "God, Sammy," he murmured to himself, preparing to shake his brother awake, but then Sam breathed out a string of words.

"Lucifer...don't...fly...fire...Dean...green..."

Lucifer? Dean knew what this could mean, but _Dean _and _green_ and _fly_? This had to be the craziest motherfucking dream of all time. Dean grunted, "Come on, Sammy, back to the land of the living."

He reached out and brushed his fingers along Sam's twitching arm. A static shock jumped between their skin, and for a heart-stopping time, the shock flashed an image to Dean's brain, searing itself into his mind, creating the image of something moving and breathing just next to Dean.

It was Sammy, _his _Sammy, but it couldn't be. Sammy was asleep in the bed right there! This Sam's muscled, lean form was clad in full-body chain main and armor, his body glinting with a black glow. He held a long ebony sword in his black-gloved hand, and when Dean met this phantom Sam's eyes, the dark hazel was obscured by bright, shining pure gold, ringing the obsidian pupils. Next to this Sam, coiled around the room over and over again, the shadow of a black dragon shifted, making the atmosphere of the room shudder. Dean reached out to try and touch this Sam-that-wasn't-Sam, but when his hand was inches from the phantom's shoulder, this Sam fell to his knees, screaming and shouting in agony and terror as the reflection of invisible flames glimmered in his golden eyes.

The smoke dragon threw his massive head back and howled as well, and the two apparitions filled the motel room with a shrieking wail of what was surely Hell-induced anguish. Dean crashed to the ground, curling up with his hands over his ears while the not-real-Sam screamed and the real Sam slumbered fitfully in his bed. Dean screwed his eyes shut, hoping and even praying that this nightmarish vision would end—

Silence. He opened his eyes to the blank darkness of the motel room, lit only by the dim yellow glow of the lamp. Sam groaned in his sleep and turned over, shaking the bed, which nudged Dean's leg. Dean struggled to sit up, searching the room for any sign of whatever the hell he'd just seen.

What was it?

What was this Sam that he'd seen? This Sam that was a warrior with a dragon of black smoke, yet was plagued by the fires of the Cage?

Who?

What?

_Sammy_?


	4. Confronting

**Late update!**

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

There it was again. There was that miniscule nudging, that pressure on the outskirts of his mind. It nudged him incessantly, growing in strength and severity as time went on. "Jesus," Sam groaned as he downed his fourth dose of Tylenol that day. "This hurts," he insisted yet again, throwing himself facedown onto his dusty motel bed.

"Get over it, princess." Dean was lacing up his boots on the next bed over. Sam forced himself to look over at his brother, who immediately looked away.

_Seriously? _Sam thought. _This is still going on_. And it had been going on for three days. Sam had tried to ask Dean why he was avoiding him, but all Dean would say was the same excuse: he needed his space for now. _As if that shit is true._

Since when was Dean in need of his space?

Sam had two words for whatever the hell Dean said:

Bull. Shit.

The drive to the diner for breakfast was silent. Breakfast was silent. Then began the somber trek to Dick Roman's headquarters. All that could be heard was the faint hint of almost-muted country music that trickled through the speakers, diffusing the heavy absence of sound but also making the situation far more awkward. "So," Sam began, trying to ignore his throbbing head.

Dean looked over at him without really removing his eyes from the road. "So."

"We're going after Dick Roman today..." Sam tried again, trying vainly to get some kind of response out of his older brother. Maybe some kind of snarky joke? Hell, even a ranting rage of hate for Dick Roman and all that he represented would be fine with him. Anything to make him talk.

Again, Dean just gave that not-quite-there look. "Yeah, we are. I, uh, I talked to Frank. And he said that other than them eating themselves or each other, Leviathans can only stay dead if they're killed by this one weapon."

Sam looked up hopefully; he was talking! But the motion activated the pain in his mind, and he hissed under his breath as pressure was put against the mental puncture where that nudging was digging a hole in his coconut. "What..." he paused to massage his temple with a groan, "what's the weapon?"

"Dragons."

Sam blinked. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, that'll be hard to find."

Dean nodded as they pulled over on the side of the road, just a few yards out of sight of Dick's headquarters. The older hunter turned in his seat to face Sam, whose heart leapt at being noticed. "Frank said that there'd be two of them living right now, coexisting in the bodies of human hosts. They can change at will, as long as the human consents. So they're like dragon skinwalkers."

"What's the catch?"

"There aren't any real names given. Just 'Holder of the Eldest' and 'Blackened One.' That's all we got."

Sam nodded quietly as Dean started the car again. "So let's just go. There's no chance that we'll find them."

"Sure. Yeah." Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but then he closed it just as fast.

The car pulled onto the smooth black tarmac of the newest Richard Roman Enterprises building, cruising unchallenged down the straight expanse. Sam and Dean rode in stony silence, sobered by the fact that they were going in to the biggest and possibly most deadly location they had ever faced.

The surroundings were silent as the brothers exited the car and got their weapons from the trunk. No Leviathans tried to confront them.

"They're watching us," Dean muttered, loading his shotgun with silver bullets. He shouldered a sash full of spray cans of Borax, and handed the other one to his brother. "Let's just go and get this over with. If we get Roman, then we've got the whole enterprise under our thumbs. "Here-" he tossed a machete to Sam, "just swing it around. You'll get a head eventually."

"Dean!" Sam yelled as his brother fell to the ground, unconscious. Sam reached out a weaponless arm to Dick Roman as he ran at the monster, praying that _something_ could let him kill this _thing_ that might have killed his brother, his Dean. Dick's smug face was twisted into a cool smirk; the monster calmly smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle in his suit and waited for Sam to reach him. "I'll kill you!" Sam shouted, and a primal feeling surged through him; that nudging in his mind grew insistent as it broke through and took control, making his voice come out as an ear-shattering roar.

Suddenly he was transforming, changing, being something else entirely. Hands changed to talons, teeth turned to fangs, and size doubled, tripled, centupled. Sam felt the same rush that he'd felt in his dream, felt that pure power as he reared up on hind legs laced with thick, roping muscles and roared at Dick Roman, letting out a burst of fire.

The Leviathan's borrowed face paled. He took a hurried step back, pushing his two cronies into Sam's path. Sam took those two down with a swiped front paw that sliced them to bits, turning their borrowed skins into ash.

Roman began to run, but Sam reached out a midnight-black paw and scooped up the human-sized monster. He brought the closed paw up in front of his face, snarling into the comparitively miniscule face of Dick Roman. "Have fun in Purgatory," he growled.

"No," Dick muttered. "Never."

Sam laughed and let loose a jet of flame, lighting up the darkened warehouse with golden tongues of fire. He kept the stream of flame going for ten more seconds, aiming it right at the worst monster ever to walk the earth.

The thing that was Dick Roman turned to ash and filtered through his claws, drifting to the ground like smoke.

The feeling of adrenaline began to ebb. Sam felt the humanity taking the forefront; it took away the claws and replaced them with fingertips, and it shrunk the scales and wings into smooth skin and clothes.

He stood there in smoke-blackened clothes, looking down at the mirrored floor. He was human again. Sam saw movement behind him in the near-glass surface and turned to see his now-gold eyes reflected in Dean's furious green ones.

Then the butt of Dean's shotgun slammed into his head.


	5. Questioning

**Double-update day!**

**I just realized that I wrote this kinda using the S7 storyline but I always think of this Sam as having the puppy-dog personality of S1-2. Odd, right?**

* * *

><p>Sam struggled against the ropes he was bound with, testing their strength. "I'm not a shifter or a demon or any kind of monster, Dean!" he shouted hoarsely, coughing as blood found its way into his airways from his rubbed-raw throat. "DEAN!"<p>

"What do you want?" Dean's voice was cold as he stepped out of the shadows of the dimly lit cabin. He strode up to where Sam was tied to the wooden pillar with the precise calculation of a predator. Sam shivered and instinctively shied away from the wickedly sharp knife in his brother's practiced hand.

"Dean, you're making a big mistake. I'm COMPLETELY NORMAL. You don't have to do this," he pleaded. "Dean, please!"

"Shut up," Dean snarled, whipping the knife across Sam's face, opening up a hair-thin slash along his right cheek. Sam hated that brief glimmer of satisfaction that his wince brought to Dean's eyes. "You have no right to say you're Sammy."

"And what if I give myself the right?" Sam asked quietly, raising his eyes to meet Dean's. He ignored the rivulets of blood that traced their way down his face. "That was Ruby's knife, and it was probably dipped in holy water too. I should be screaming by now."

Dean's eyes, which had previously been hard and unyielding, betrayed a flicker of self-doubt. They shuttered again within nanoseconds. "You could be a Leviathan," he accused.

Sam raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Do you really believe that? Am I bleeding black goo?"

"No."

"So? What's the verdict, captain?" Sam's voice switched into a different tone as something inside of him just _clicked_ into place. It was almost like there was a faint echo of a different voice just after Sam's, and it was scornful. "You know I'm me."

Dean cocked his head to the side fractionally, seeming to be in an internal struggle with himself. Then he shook his head and brought the knife in his hand down in a massive arc to land in Sam's thigh. Sam howled in agony, trying to dislodge the blade from his leg, but to no avail. The thing in Sam's mind roared for Dean's blood, swearing revenge. Sam quelled it with reason. This was _Dean_. He was just trying to find out what had happened to his brother. Dean leaned in close to Sam's ear and Sam shuddered as his brother's words rang through his ears. "I know you're not my Sammy. You can't be him. Wanna know why?"

"Why?" Sam spat bloody saliva into Dean's face.

The older hunter leaned closer to Sam's ear and whispered, "Because I saw you after the fight with Dick, where the leader of the damn _Leviathans_ dropped dead, courtesy of you! You had _wings _and _claws_ and _scales. _You were a monster, _brother._" The last word was tossed scornfully in his direction like an old paper bag.

"I…I can't explain that, Dean!" Sam roared back at Dean, staring furiously into his brother's hard green eyes. "I'm trying to figure out how I killed Dick just as much as you are! One second, I was Sam, and the next, there was something else that I was, but it was still me! I. Don't. KNOW!"

"Like I'll believe you," Dean snarled. He hefted the silver blade again, yanking it from Sam's thigh with a slight twist. He ignored Sam's agonized pleas and raised the knife, bringing it to rest just above the hair-thin slash on Sam's cheek. "How about we stop lying now?" Ruby's knife cut deeper now, leaving a bloody trail in its wake as its impossibly sharp tip forged its way through flesh and veins across the length of Sam's cheek and down past his mouth, leaving its path to end at Sam's chin. Crimson flowed from both wounds now, and Sam's mind was still in overdrive, trying to fix that gaping hole where a perfectly healthy thigh should be. "I'll be back later," Dean spat, "and you'd better be telling the truth by then." He strode from the room and disappeared into the shadows that spilled from the sides of the cabin and exited from some unseen door, slamming it behind himself.

Sam was alone. He was bleeding and he was desperate and he wanted Dean back.

_Please_, he pleaded to that force in his mind, that creature that he could not explain. _Just help me show him that I'm still Sam!_

There was silence in Sam's mind for one minute, two minutes, three—

_Hello, Sam._

"What are you?" Sam gasped out to the empty room.

_I'm you. Or a part of you, I suppose. You could call me an…extension of yourself._

Sam's mind reeled, trying to process this. "What's your name?" he breathed. "What are you to me?"

_I'm Lucifer._

Instantly, thousands upon thousands upon millions of memories of torture and fear and pain and every agonizing piece of fear in the world rushed through Sam's mind, culminating to form the image of a single fallen angel. It was him. This _thing _was the angel that dominated Sam's nightmares, and now he was here to stay?

_Not that one. I'm older than my angelic counterpart._

"What?" Sam choked out past the fear. "But you're Lucifer. You're evil."

_Wrong. I'm Lucifer, true. But I'm not the Morning Star. I'm before his time._

"So what are you?"

_A dragon. Or you. Both, really. There's quite the fine line between those two terms._

"Dragon? A dragon? That-that _can't_ be true! I'm not a dragon!"

_You're not. I am. We just share the spaces in between. _This Lucifer's voice was smooth, but had a rough undertone to it, almost like the growl in Castiel's voice. _I'm sorry that I put you in this situation._

Sam closed his eyes, shaking his head as he stared down at his bloody leg. "Just leave me alone," he murmured.

There was a stabbing feeling of misery and hurt from this Lucifer. The consciousness that was the dragon withdrew, but then that smooth-rough voice called through his head again, soft as a whisper.

_You can call me anytime, Sam._

* * *

><p>When Sam regained consciousness, it was dark out and the shadows in the corners had extended to bleed through the whole room. That was when he felt it.<p>

Lucifer prodded gently at Sam's anguished mind, allowing himself entry into the mind that he shared with the hunter. _I can heal it, Sam, _he whispered in that powerful-yet-comforting voice of his. _That stab wound from Dean._

Sam pried his eyes open, glancing down at the gaping gash where Ruby's knife had been. Every once in a while, his heart would give a lurching beat and a trickle of fresh blood would ooze from the wound. "How?" he asked the supposed dragon. "You're not an angel."

_I know_, the mind replied amusedly. _I'm older_. He scooted farther forward in Sam's mind, and Sam closed his eyes to find himself on the top of that familiar icy mountain.

The mountain from his dream!

Sam looked down at himself wildly, checking for the body he'd had then, looking for the scales, the claws; the wings. But there was only human flesh.

"You will not see yourself like that until you're healed." The dragon's voice resounded behind him, not in his mind. Sam whirled to see a massive ebony dragon towering above him, its golden eyes wide and quizzical. "Hello, Sam," it purred, nearly like a cat as it rubbed its snout against the hunter's body, nearly knocking him over. After all, the muzzle was five times as long as Sam was tall.

"Lucifer," Sam whispered in awe.

The black dragon's chuckle almost sounded like thunder. "Call me Luc."

"You're the reason I was able to kill Dick Roman?" Sam asked in shock, reaching out a hand to touch the dark, sleek snout. "You're in me?"

Luc hummed in agreement. "Welcome to the astral projection of Old Earth. This is where the souls of all of the old dragons roam. You'll see them from time to time."

"Old dragons? Old Earth?" Sam asked confusedly. "What are you talking about?"

"He never really explained, did he?" Lucifer asked sadly, shaking his massive head in disappointment. "Well, suffice to say that there was once another version of Earth, and the old inhabitants were dragons. When God came around, he made a new Earth over the old one and created his own superior race: angels. He forced us into dormancy, promising us immortal lives as soon as our souls were born into those of humans. He allowed us to live in a spiritual version of Old Earth, which is where we stand now. So, once again, welcome to the dream land where our souls lie in wait for rebirth." The black dragon nodded to himself. "Yes, Sam, this is amazing indeed. I saw that you enjoyed my form, both in your dream and in reality."

Sam shifted his feet nervously. "Dean's freaked out. He's been interrogating me." Suddenly, a twinge of pain shot through his leg, and Sam looked down to see the stab wound glistening red and brown against his jeans. He looked up at Luc with a pleading frown. "Can you help me?"

"Of course, Sam," the dragon purred, bringing his nose to touch Sam's thigh. The touch spread warmth through his veins and made Sam feel like he was caught in an electrical current with energy just waiting to be harnessed. The feeling of his flesh knitting together was almost unbearably itchy, but then all that was left was the heat. "There," Lucifer growled in satisfaction, bringing his nose away.

Sam rubbed at a spot on the reptile's snout, grinning boyishly when Luc purred and thumped his tail against the ground. "Thanks," he told his newfound second identity.

"Sam, I'm here for you," Lucifer assured his much smaller charge. He suddenly stretched his limbs and lay down on his chest, tucking his legs underneath himself like a cat. "Come stay warm with me, Sam," he beckoned the hunter. "It's too cold up here for a human like you."

With his leg feeling pleasantly warm and whole, Sam crawled over to Luc's smoky black belly, pressing himself against the warmth of the massive stomach. Purring in satisfaction, Luc stretched out one of his enormous, tent-like wings of steel. The bladelike feathers nestled against Sam's cheek, but they did not cut him. The edges were so fine that they felt like hairs instead of steel wires. Underneath Luc's wing, the air was significantly warmer than the biting wind of the mountaintop. "Thanks, Luc," Sam murmured sleepily before drifting off into oblivion.

* * *

><p>A resounding roar echoed around the mountain peaks, waking man and dragon alike. Sam and Luc looked up with confused, groggy eyes. Sam gasped at what he saw.<p>

An emerald green dragon was soaring between the peaks, letting loose rippling sheets of gold-green flames that melted the ice of the high-up summits. The sun shone through the wings of the creature and painted the landscape underneath green.

"Who is that?" Sam asked Luc breathlessly, getting to his feet and standing under the shadow of Luc's body.

"That is Michael," Luc replied. "The biggest, oldest, and most powerful of all the dragons. He is the one who turned my scales black, after a great battle that has been recorded by God's own hand." The dragon's voice was laced with a faint tone of resentment for lost battles. "But he's my brother, so I've forgiven him."

Sam looked up at his dragon's great, glittering golden eye. "Is he inside a human? I mean, is this another human's dream too?"

"Let's go see," Luc rumbled good-naturedly, but Sam could detect a hint of apprehension in the dragon's voice. "Get on my back."

"Where?" Sam looked helplessly at the glittering mass of scales, wings, and spikes

The dragon sighed. "Right between where my wings begin, there's a dip in my back. Get up there, hold on to the spike in front of you, and rest your feet on the bulge of scales where my wings begin." He waited while the hunter nimbly clambered up before standing, rising to his usual magnificent height. "Let's go!" he roared, and he reared on his hind legs with a bellow, loosing a pillar of golden flame.

Michael, the jade reptile that soared higher above, returned the roar and dove, spiraling towards Sam and Lucifer with his wings tucked to his sides. As Lucifer took off with a windstorm of wingbeats, Sam could see that a human rode on the back of the other dragon.

"Go closer," he yelled to Lucifer over the deafening wind. The air snatched his words away, but the mind link between Luc and Sam seemed to allow the dragon to hear him. Luc obliged the human's request and turned to the left, angling towards Michael. As the two dragons drew closer, Sam could see just how different the two were.

Where Lucifer was lithe and graceful, Michael was all muscle and brute power. Where Lucifer's wings were feathers of black steel, Michael's were soft, translucent membranes. Where Michael's scales were forest green, Lucifer's were smoky obsidian.

And where Sam sat on Lucifer, Dean sat on Michael.

The brothers' eyes met in shock.

Lucifer let out a warning bellow before wheeling in a circle and diving, spiraling down and away, farther and farther from the shock, from the fact that the other dragon was Sam's own brother.

He was falling, falling-

Sam's eyes flew open and he coughed out a hoarse breath, panting from the vivid dream.

A gun clicked.

Sam looked up to see the barrel of the Colt aimed at his forehead.

"So," Dean said conversationally, pulling the hammer back, "Care to explain?"


End file.
